


Hallelujah

by MarcellaBianca



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Blowjobs, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Christmas, Christmas Feelings, Christmas Tree, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Eventual Smut, Face-Fucking, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Recovery Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, References to Depression, Soft Stucky Week 2016, Steve Rogers Feels, Top Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-07 14:07:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8803786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarcellaBianca/pseuds/MarcellaBianca
Summary: The weeks leading up to the second Christmas after Bucky came home. A bad day, a bad morning, and a great night. Takes place in the Book of Ruth 'verse, the winter following Bucky's acquittal.





	1. And Love Is Not a Victory March

**Author's Note:**

> Probably 2 or 3 chapters in this one. This started out as a fluffy Stucky Christmas fic and then I had to deal with all these FEELINGS coming out. Fic title obviously taken from Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah", because I've been listening to Pentatonix's cover of it for the past four days.
> 
> As this is my entry for Soft Stucky Week 2016, it's going to end VERY well indeed. Lots of comfort in here for the time of year.

Steve knows it’s not a good day from the minute he wakes up, the minute his eyes flutter open for his 6AM run with Sam. The bed next to him is cold. The air in the room blankets him in ice. A familiar loneliness.

He slides out of bed to pad downstairs into the living room. Still no sign of Bucky. The door to the front stoop is slightly ajar, whipping December air around his ankles. The Christmas decorations are half on – the lights on the tree are on but the garland around the banister is off. He can see Bucky’s profile through the slit of the door. 

Bucky stands in front of their brownstone, cigarette clenched between his fingers. They’re steady. Progress. His eyes are shaded in charcoal, direct relief from the rest of his face. His mouth wraps around the stub like a regretful lover. His jaw looks achingly tight. 

It’s been 93 goddamn years since Steve Rogers first clapped eyes on Bucky Barnes in that schoolyard brawl and Steve still can’t believe how perfect this man is. Even on days like today. Especially on days like today. They serve as reminders. 

Steve quietly pokes his head through the door. “Buck?” 

No response. Steve nods. “I’m going to meet Sam for a run and then I have a presser and debriefing. You want me to cancel?” 

“No.” Bucky’s voice is raw like he’s been screaming himself hoarse.

“You get any sleep?”

Bucky doesn’t answer. Steve sighs, terribly fond. Sometimes he hates himself for not being able to help Bucky more during his bad days. Like he hasn’t failed to save him enough. 

He notices Bucky’s in a tshirt. He rushes to grab a sweater and gently lowers it over his lover’s shoulders, careful to avoid touching the one where flesh meets metal. “I’ll see you later, okay? Try to get a nap.” He doesn’t kiss him. “I love you,” he whispers, even though he knows Bucky will flinch at it. Steve is selfish. His love makes him greedy. 

*

Sam and Steve jog through the December dawn light to Prospect Park. The lights are still on in the trees; someone is blasting Christmas music from a street vendor cart.

Last Christmas was terrible for both of them. Bucky had been in the hospital after his relapse, wandering between light and dark. Steve had fallen asleep in the visitor lounge for three straight days before being allowed in to see him. There has been many beautiful, perfect days since then. The medicine works nearly 80% of the time. 

Sometimes it doesn’t. 

Dr. Baldwin’s told him that this would happen. That recovery isn’t linear. But Steve’s selfish. Wants every day to be perfect. Wants every day to be as gorgeous and lovely as four days ago, when Bucky had been full of smiles and Christmas cheer. They had gone present shopping, went out to dinner, and then Steve had taken Bucky apart on their living room floor in the sight of their fully lit tree. It winked blasphemously as Steve fucked into him. Bucky had keened and it made Steve’s guts ache. 

He’s selfish, and he wants those days to never end.

Sam always knows when this happens. He keeps Steve amused with tale of the night out he had with Sharon. She wants him to meet her parents. He’s slightly afraid of the prospect. Steve loves how unsettled and exhilarated Sam is. Reminds him of how he felt in the early days when he was heady and pining. 

They pause in front of a smaller tree bedecked with light. All white. Steve bites back a grin. When Sam looks at him, questioning, he can only sigh out “Bucky only likes the colored lights. I like the plain ones.” 

_“Of course you do, you fuckin’ mook. You fuckin’ old man. Christ, I love you and your big dumb stubborn face,” Then he’d taken Steve home from the downtown Christmas displays, back to their home in Red Hook, up to their bed. Their last Christmas before Bucky shipped out._

Sam doesn’t say anything. He just grabs Steve’s shoulder, waits for the clouds of memory to roll by.

He texts Bucky on the way to his presser at SHIELD. No response. He doesn’t expect one. On bad days Bucky doesn’t look at his phone much. Steve knows he’s probably going to come home to see Bucky curled up on the couch in a huddle of blankets, sleeping intermittently. Steve’s heart twists.

Bucky always took care of him when he was sick or poorly. Steve Rogers caught sickness like other kids caught pop fly balls. Every time STeve had to stay home from school, Bucky would race home after the final bell with pulps and comics in tow. Steve would end up smiling broadly as Bucky acted out some radio story about a valiant Prince rescuing his maiden from a tower. Now, Steve has his own love to protect.

He leaves the debriefing and presser to take the subway home. He texts Bucky before boarding the train. _Pizza okay for dinner?_

His phone dies when he gets on the train but he’s not expecting a response. Just checking in. Once he gets off at his Brooklyn stop he’s surprised at the buzzing in his phone. It’s a thumbs up emoji. Steve swallows down relief. He’s not down too deep. 

*

“I hope you like extra pepperoni. The guy got kind of excited that Captain America was in his shop.”

Bucky doesn’t answer but Steve swears the corner of his mouth twists up a little. He’ll take anything he can get. Bucky’s shoulders are less tense than they were when he left this morning. Steve keeps his distance still; he knows not to crowd him. He’s learned that much from Dr. Lu.

He plates the food. They eat in front of their TV. They’re halfway through _The Crown_. Bucky likes the period costumes, Steve likes the political maneuvers. Plus, he met Churchill.

When they’re done eating, Steve looks up and sees that the light on the garland is back on. He looks over at Bucky, who shrugs a little. “Thought the place needed to look a little more festive.” His voice doesn’t sound as ragged as this morning. Steve nods. His heart knits together a little bit more.

“Think you can handle getting in the shower?” he tries. Bucky looks over at him with eyes that are limpid, but alive. He’s alive. Still with him. Always. “Yes. I think I can do that.”

Steve helps him undress and makes sure the water isn’t too hot. They stand under the spray. Steve washes Bucky’s hair. Bucky leans into the touch. Steve couldn’t love anyone more.

He dries him off. They climb into bed. Bucky clings to the edge of the bed. Steve doesn't try to touch him. He gives him space. Always.

In the middle of the night Steve wakes up to find Bucky wrapped around him like another blanket. He sighs. Tomorrow will be better. He hopes.

There is always hope. 


	2. I used to live alone before I knew ya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is sitting – no, he’s hunched over but still standing – in front of the island. His chest is rising and falling at a rate that isn’t too worrisome, but it still tells Bucky that whatever dream he was ripped out of was bad. Bucky knows he’s walking in at the tail end of the anxiety. Normally he wakes up the second Steve starts thrashing about, just enough time to place a flesh hand at the middle of his soaked back, ride it out because there’s nothing else he can do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legit the schmoopiest thing I've ever written and I DO NOT CARE.
> 
> Part of Soft Stucky Week 2016.

Sometimes Bucky just wakes up in the middle of the night. It’s not because he’s had a nightmare – those, thankfully, don’t have as much teeth as they used to. It’s a side effect of the medication he’s taking. Dr. Lu told him that if it becomes a problem they can switch him onto something else, but the positives of the SSRIs (the overall lessening of depression, the decreased anxiety, the ability to feel _joy_ ) outweigh the sometimes annoyance of easing out of sleep in the dim hours of morning.

It’s always around 4AM when it happens, and Bucky lets out a small whuff of bemusement when he checks his phone to see that it is indeed 4:03. He scrubs at his bleary eyes, remembers what Dr. Wilkerson told him. _You’re okay. You’re safe. Find something to look at on your phone and allow yourself to relax._

He’s almost down for the count when he realizes the bed next to him is empty.

 Snapping awake, Bucky sits ramrod straight in bed, fumbles blindly. There’s a Steve-shaped compression in the blankets, so he can’t have been up too long. He pulls his wayward hair into a ponytail the elastic on his wrist – Steve jokes that they should just build a Scunci attachment into the metal arm so he can have hair ties at his constant disposal – and tiptoes into their kitchen. 

“Steve?”

Steve is sitting – no, he’s hunched over but still standing – in front of the island. His chest is rising and falling at a rate that isn’t too worrisome, but it still tells Bucky that whatever dream he was ripped out of was bad. Bucky knows he’s walking in at the tail end of the anxiety. Normally he wakes up the second Steve starts thrashing about, just enough time to place a flesh hand at the middle of his soaked back, ride it out because there’s nothing else he can do.

There’s no sweat sticking Steve’s shirt to his skin, so that’s good. But his hair is mussed like he’s been running his hands through it.

  
“Baby, talk to me if you can,” Bucky murmurs. He sits on a stool, a good distance away from Steve. When Steve gets like this, he doesn’t particularly like to be touched unless he asks. Bucky tried to hug Steve once during a nightmare and got an elbow right to the face. The next day Steve was apoplectic when he turned to kiss Bucky good morning and was greeted with an eggplant-purple blossom on Bucky’s cheek. 

Steve’s silent for a few moments. The clock on the microwave flashes off and on. Bucky blinks. “Did you make something?” 

“Yeah,” Steve murmurs. He doesn’t sound like he’s been yelling. He sits down on a stool. “I made hot cocoa. There’s two mugs in there since…I know you wake up sometimes around this time.”

And Bucky just fucking _dissolves_ on the inside. One little phrase and the Winter Soldier is just a pile of godddamn mush. Good Christ, he loves him. He’s half of Bucky’s heart. Hell, all of his heart some days when things are too much (or the team is being really fucking annoying) 

Steve looks up at him. An invitation. Bucky hauls off the stool and gently folds his partner into his arms. “That sounds fantastic,” he murmurs, carefully kissing the top of Steve’s head.

They didn’t get hot chocolate too much back then. Usually it was watered-down ovaltine that tasted like a bastard child of chocolate. But they made do with what they had. Now, Bucky only wants the good stuff, like Vosges. “None of that Hershey bullshit,” he raged at the grocery store, while Steve just laughed and laughed. 

He brings the mugs to the table and pushes one over to Steve. They sip in silence. Bucky notes, with not a little bit of incredulity, that his cup is made the way he told Steve he likes it back when they were kids. _I want lots of sugar. So much that it makes your teeth hurt. Jesus, Stevie, when this war’s over I’m gonna just buy a pound of sugar and roll around in it._

“You know why I love you?” he says, suddenly. Steve looks up, has the nerve to blush around the edges of his still-tense face. Bucky feels his heart swell up so hard it almost hurts in his chest. “I love you because you know how to make my hot chocolate.” 

Despite the anxiety still present in the ridges and lines of Steve’s still young visage, the blond cracks a smile. “I knew that was the only reason.” 

Bucky grins, takes another sip. Lets the sugar and the rich chocolate warm him down to the core, but the true blaze comes when he looks into Steve’s eyes. “I love you because you bought me pizza last week when I was coming off my bad day. You even got me extra breadsticks because you know those breadsticks are, as the kids say, lit.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Is that how you say it?” 

“Oh, Christ,” Steve groans. He lets his head crash into the table but Bucky can see his shoulder shake with the desire to laugh. _Perfect._

“I love you because you laugh at my stupid attempts to stay contemporary. I love you because you still dress like you got hit in the head with a Sears Roebuck catalog.” He wraps his hands around the mug. It’s got a reindeer on it, with lots of glitter, and the phrase _Holly Jolly_ written around the edge. He loves it because it’s beyond tacky. “I love you because you bought me this mug when I know this kind of monetization of Christmas makes you want to poke your own eyes out.” 

“Well, it’s true,” Steve grumbles, sipping out of his own plain white mug. 

“You’re just jealous because I can pull off this mug. Plus I can pull off the onesie you got with it as free gift with purchase.” That was, quite possibly, the best day of Bucky’s entire life – the day he wore the fluffy onesie down to a board meeting with the rest of the Avengers just to fuck with Fury. Natalia nearly smacked him, but Steve’s smile was what made it all worth it. 

Every single thing Bucky’s done in his entire, fractured life has been worth it to see Steve Rogers smile. 

“I love you because your smile is like the sun,” he murmurs. Steve’s flush gets a little bit deeper. Bucky knows exactly how low that blush goes. He wants to see how red he can get. “I love you because of the way you look at me – when we’re in the field, when we’re getting debriefed, when you think I can’t tell you’re looking.” He leans forward a little; they’re still a little ways apart but Bucky wants to whisper this last bit so not even F.R.I.D.A.Y. can hear it. “The way you look at me when I’m making you mine.” That will always be Bucky's favorite. Even when they were still just fooling around in that little bed back in the 30s, Bucky could still pick out the moment Steve was completely lost to the feeling of Bucky moving over him, behind him, beneath him. It's different when Steve's doing the fucking - then, Steve is a teasing little shit, eyes full of lusty merriment and crystalline purpose. But when Bucky's buried inside of him, Steve's eyes glaze over with a kind of wonderment. Like he can't believe how lucky he is. 

Bucky knows exactly how lucky he is because he wakes up feeling the same way, every day. Even on the bad days.

He can tell he's pushing it a little too far. Steve likes it when Bucky compliments him and talks sweet - or talks filthy - but this isn't the time for it. 

 So Bucky smiles, shrugs, takes another sip. “I just had to say that last part. You know me. Back to other reasons why I love you.” 

He pretends to think. “I love how you look when you’re suiting up. You give this little look in the mirror and I swear to Christ, Steve, you _become_ Captain America when that look happens. I don’t know what it is, it’s like some kind of magic or somethin’.” 

Steve gives a little head shake like he can’t believe what’s coming out of Bucky’s mouth, but Bucky scoffs. “Don’t act like you’re dumb, Stevie. You know how amazing you are when you’re in that suit.” He doesn’t mention how badly he _wants_ Steve when he’s in said suit. How he’s dreamed of the day when he can throw Steve into the back of the Quinjet and rend a hole in that red white and blue; just enough space for him to climb in Steve’s lap and hold on for dear life. Plenty of time for that. 

“But I think the number one reason why I love you, Stevie,” he says, now feeling a dull ache in his stomach like he's so full of love it's going to break through his skin, “is because you never give up on me. Ever. Even when everyone was telling you to.”

Steve looks up at that and the look in his eyes flashes Bucky back to a shitty little room in London, that first time they were able to be alone together since Bucky’s rescue. It was a shy look of total adoration. He almost doesn’t hear what Steve says, and he cocks his head. “What was that, babydoll?”

When Steve speaks it’s low, but dead certain. “You never gave up on me. I’ll be damned if I ever give up on you. I’m yours. All yours.”

“You bet you are,” Bucky winks, finishing off his drink and getting up to put it in the sink. “You ready to go back to bed? We don’t have anywhere to be tomorrow and I think we could use a lie-in.” 

“Yeah. I’m ready.” 

Before they get in bed Steve stops Bucky. Puts his arms around his neck. Breathes. Even and calm, without even a rattle of that old asthmatic wheeze that used to haunt Bucky’s worst nightmares. "You know I love you,” he says, quiet and true. 

Bucky leans in, touching his lips to Steve’s. “You know I love you too.”

It doesn’t take them long to fall back asleep, and this time, Bucky’s got his arms wrapped around Steve so they can sink down together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will come bearing smut. ;)
> 
> [tumblr!](http://marciellaniello.tumblr.com)


	3. and every breath we drew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A damn good Christmas Eve Day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved writing this. It was fun but still filled with some angsty moments here and there. This is for Soft Stucky Week 2016!

Steve loves Bucky the most on mornings like this.

It’s the day before Christmas. They’re planning to go up to Stark Tower for a little get-together with the rest of the team. They’ll stay there for the night and spend tomorrow eating and being lazy while Tony and Clint argue if _Christmas Vacation_ or _Christmas Story_ is the better movie.

He finds Bucky standing in the doorway of the brownstone. Today, he’s wrapped up properly in a sweater and thick sweatpants and fuzzy slippers; Steve can tell it’s going to be a good day. He checks the kitchen – his coffee is already made and laid out with the plain mug. Bucky’s got his reindeer mug. 

It’s a warmer Christmas Eve – apparently it’s supposed to snow tomorrow, but today it’s around 45 degrees. Sometimes Bucky likes to stand in the cold. It’s bracing. It reminds him of where he’s been, he told Steve once. “Plus you’re too fucking warm at night,” he had added, poking Steve in the side.

He approaches softly, but Bucky always knows when he’s coming. “Sleep okay?” he murmurs, not taking his eyes off the street. There’s still a little bit of snow on the ground. A semi-white Christmas after all. Steve murmurs a noise of assent. “You?” Bucky nods. 

Steve gauges Bucky’s posture. He’s relaxed. A little sleepy. Cozy. 

He couldn’t love a human being more. 

Arms snake around Bucky’s midsection, careful not to disrupt his coffee mug. “We don’t have to be at the Tower until 6. I’m thinking we start being lazy now.” 

He can feel Bucky’s smile, soft hum of contentment, vibrate through his body. He presses a kiss to the nape of the brunet’s neck. For a few interminable moments they are content to stay right there.

They eventually tear themselves away to make more coffee and breakfast. Bucky fries up some bacon, Steve preps the eggs. They trade lazy, soft kisses while making sure the food doesn’t burn. Steve tastes the sugar from Bucky’s coffee on his tongue. He’s craved that flavor since he was 16 years old. Probably longer than that if he’s being really honest. Definitely longer than that. 

They eat and talk about everything and nothing, the way they always do. Bucky’s face crinkles up into that slow, easy smile that never fails to make Steve ache from somewhere deep within, rattling around his ribcage like the phantoms of his formerly crunchy lungs.

They move over to the couch to flip through some of the games. The Nets are playing tomorrow so they’ll have to play Couch Commando for the remote, when Nat isn’t trying to hog it for a five hundredth showing of _Love Actually_ (Steve and Bucky _much_ prefer _The Holiday_ ).

They get halfway through the Knicks game when Steve notices Bucky looking at him like he wants to say something. “Yes?” 

Bucky doesn’t respond. He just jerks his head to the left. To the bedroom. A shorthand that’s both subtle and so insanely obvious Steve would laugh hysterically if it were anyone else. But it isn’t anyone else. It’s Bucky. 

* * *

 

They take their time undressing each other; they have absolutely nowhere to go for hours. Steve unwraps Bucky like he’s the best Christmas present, not like he’s breakable but definitely like he’s precious. He slides off the sweater and tank top with military precision as Bucky shivers under his careful hands. Steve likes seeing how wrecked he can get Bucky before they even do anything overtly sexual. The lights in their room twinkle merrily, ping off Bucky’s metal arm. The new vibranium shines like Dorothy’s silver slippers. No place like home.

“Gorgeous,” he sighs. Bucky doesn’t say anything. He just smiles. That alone means everything.

Steve bends his head, runs his mouth and tongue over the seam that connects metal to flesh. Bucky throws his head back, opens his lips in a silent moan. That spot is sensitive. Steve knows every single sensitive spot on Bucky’s body. He plans to exploit all of them. He licks a hot, wet line from the seam to the hollow of Bucky’s throat. He can feel fingers, cybernetic and organic, work at the drawstring of his sweatpants. “Son of a bitch,” Bucky mutters before fitting his mouth over Steve’s, wet and drawn out. When they break apart, a string of spit briefly connects their lips. A lifeline. “You goin’ bare for me, baby?” Bucky pants against Steve’s mouth. 

“Kinda figured we’d get to this point,” Steve smirks, left hand sliding down Bucky’s back to grasp firmly at the brunet’s still-clothed ass. “Can you blame me?” 

“Fuck no,” Bucky swears, fondly. “C’mere, you-“ he pushes his mouth up against Steve, open and wet, and Steve feels that familiar swinging slide of his heart, the same one he’s had every single time Bucky’s kissed him since the first time all those years ago. He suddenly gets choked up, with how grateful he is that they can have this time back again. His own right hand palms Bucky’s cock through the red and black plaid pajama pants, spider-walks his fingers up the obviously hard length. “Already so hard, love?” He teases. 

“Probably been hard since I got up,” Bucky murmurs. His own hand – the flesh one, for now at least – snakes past Steve’s SHIELD issue sweats, a long pianist finger stroking the already wet slit of the blond’s erection. “This all for me, sugar?” 

Steve twitches at the sensation and the nickname. Bucky’s hand is still a little cold from being outside, and that combined with the blood-hot flesh of his cock is almost too much. Almost. It hinges on that exquisite boundary line of pain and pleasure. 

He doesn’t realize how close they are to the bedroom wall until his back gently bumps up against it. Bucky trails kisses over his neck, shoulders, abdomen, sliding gracefully down to his knees. He pulls the front of Steve’s pants down so his cock can bob free. “You want my mouth or my hand?” 

“You know the answer to that question,” Steve pants, resisting the urge to thrust his hips forward. But Bucky knows what Steve wants. He always does, that bastard. He looks hard at at Steve. “If you want to, you can.”

“You’re going to have to tell me.” Steve stops moving and looks down at Bucky, feeling a little bit overwhelmed with what he assumes Bucky’s going to say. They’ve been working very hard on full direct communication, but this has been something they’ve avoided for a very long time. 

Bucky takes Steve’s cock in hand and nuzzles it. “Steve Rogers,” he says, solemnly, as serious as one can look with an erect cock practically painting the side of their face with precome. “I want you to fuck my face.”

Steve has to reach down and squeeze the base of himself to stop from shooting off right then and there. He nods, almost frantic with how much he needs this man, this _man_ , kneeling in front of him like supplication, like he chose to be on his knees, worshipping and loving only him, forever. He will never understand how he got this lucky. “Okay, okay,” he practically spits out. “But I don’t want to do it for too long.” He lets out a deep moan when Bucky licks the underside of his cock, the sensation of wet heat and velvet strokes threatening to undo him. “I want to save it.”

“Save it for what, babydoll?” Bucky grins, before taking the head of Steve’s dick into his mouth, sucking gently. Steve lets out another low sound, and when he speaks again, his voice is full of heady intent. “After I fuck your face, I want to come in your ass. And I want you to come in mine after that. We’ll take turns filling each other up. Is that what you want, Bucky? You want me to be covered in you, and you dripping with me? You want it running down my thighs?” 

He’s gotten _much_ better at filthy talk, judging by the way Bucky’s eyes widen. The brunet swallows Steve’s cock back down again, wet lips starting to stretch to accommodate the girth. He looks up and nods. Keeping eye contact, Steve pushes Bucky’s head until his lover’s lips nearly hit the fuzz of pubic hair at Steve’s pelvis. He keeps him there for a moment, begins to move his hips in a gentle but stern manner. Bucky keeps making noises that make Steve even harder than he ever imagined possible. 

After a few minutes of silence punctuated by thick sucking sounds and Steve groaning, Bucky pulls off of Steve’s cock with a pop and licks his way back up the blond’s body. Steve responds by shoving Bucky backwards until Bucky trips over his own two feet and lands in a laughing clump on the bed. Steve immediately joins him, twining their legs together, only pausing to grab the lube from the bedside table. 

“Hold up,” Bucky says softly. “What the fuck is this? _Gingerbread_ scented lube?”

 “I thought it would be fun. It’s seasonal.” Steve just shrugs, reveling in the look of stunned amusement on Bucky’s face.  

“There’s a time and a place for seasonal items, babe,” Bucky insists, snatching the lube away from Steve, waving it in his face. “I like gingerbread cookies. Gingerbread air freshener. Gingerbread candles. I don’t know if I want anything gingerbread scented going up my _ass_.” 

“Damn,” Steve sighs, pretending to be disappointed. “And here I was, planning to work you open, get you all wet and ready for me…make you ride my fingers until you came at least once…then fuck you until you forget what _year_ it is, let alone what holiday. Then I was going to let you do that to me. But I guess since you don’t like the way the lube _smells_ …”

The look on Bucky’s face tells Steve he won.

* * *

 

“You’re taking your fucking time back there,” Bucky groans as Steve adds a third finger. The brunet’s hips are pistoning back and forth, fucking himself on Steve’s hand. The room smells like gingerbread and sex. It’s not the worst combination of smells, if Steve’s being honest. He should’ve gotten the peppermint mocha one too.

“I’m not going to stop until you behave,” Steve admonishes Bucky, pressing a kiss to one ass cheek. Bucky twists underneath Steve’s fingers – he’s on all fours, ass high up in the air, face buried in one of the pillows on their massive bed. 

“Please, Stevie.” The words are muffled into the pillow but Steve can hear it. “Please-“ 

“Please what?” 

“Fuck me – fuck me, please, Jesus Christ, I’ll do anything.”

Steve gently slaps Bucky’s ass. “Turn over.”

Bucky pulls away from Bucky’s fingers with a soft whine and flips around, immediately wrapping his legs around Steve’s midsection. Not content with that, Steve pulls one of Bucky’s legs over his shoulders. Bucky’s eyes widen, then his pupils blow out even more when the head of Steve’s dick catches the rim of Bucky’s prepped hole. 

“Oh God,” both men say in unison. They look at each other. They laugh. Steve absolutely loves that they’ve gotten to the point where sex can be incredible and hilarious. 

Steve pulls away for a moment, and Bucky lets out a gasp of protest. “Someday I’mma write a book about how mean you are to me,” the brunet complains, wiggling his ass underneath Steve’s body to get the blond’s dick closer to his ass. Steve just smiles and presses a kiss to Bucky’s brow. “You love it.” 

“Yeah. I do. I’d love it even more if you’d start fucking me.” He slaps Steve’s ass, to make a point.

When Steve finally moves, the mood changes. Just the sound of Steve moving in an out of his lover, Bucky’s moans getting more frequent, the bed softly creaking underneath them. “So fucking tight,” Steve utters.

“Fuck – fuck Steve you feel so good...touch me…” 

Steve is helpless under Bucky’s command. He wraps his fist around Bucky’s dripping cock, pumps him in time with his thrusts until Bucky is boneless and shaking around him. Soon, his thrusts turn from slow and hard to fast and hard, until sweat is pouring off both of them and Bucky’s dick pools precome all over his stomach. 

  
"I love you, I love you, I love you," Bucky moans. A firebrand on Steve's heart.

They come within moments of each other, Bucky covering Steve and Steve filling Bucky up. After he pulls out, he can’t help it – Steve uses his thumb and index finger to massage the puffy wet skin around Bucky’s ass. “Goddamn, you’re so open for me,” he marvels. “I bet I could get back inside you in the next twenty minutes and you’d be just as fucked loose.” 

“Of course I would be. You just fucked the hell out of me. If I weren’t ready I’d make you watch me get ready all over again.” Bucky lets out a sobbing kind of laugh, still monstrously fucked out. “I could do that all day. In fact, I have.”

He rolls over, pins Steve to the bed underneath his bulky frame. “But you know what?” He presses a kiss to Steve’s surprised but quickly recharging mouth, as Bucky’s hand moves down to stroke Steve back to life, “I think it’s my turn.”

* * *

"You're late," Tony accuses, around a mouthful of Peppermint Patty.

Steve and Bucky just smile. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays, everyone! There might be another chapter in here for the new year, but if not, this has been a blast!
> 
> [Tumblr!](http://marciellaniello.tumblr.com)

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr!](http://marciellaniello.tumblr.com)


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